Brandy Hall
by TinyFlyingFerret
Summary: Welcome to the story of some of the earliest and arguably most important years in the life of the most famousest of hobbits. From his own birth, to the drowning of his parents, to the birth of his first best friend, to the fateful adoption that may have altered the course of history, inside you will find the chronicles of the early years of Frodo Baggins.
1. Part 1- Ethereal Light

**BRANDY HALL**

 **Volume One**

 **Part 1: Ethereal Light**

 **SUMMARY: Welcome to Brandy Hall, the great ancestral home of the Brandybuck family, often described as a rabbit's warren filled with soft-headed hobbits dwelling on the wrong side of the river and doing things as preposterous as swimming and tree-climbing. Or more precisely, welcome to the story of some of the earliest and arguably most important years in the life of the most famousest of hobbits. From his own birth, to the drowning of his parents, to the birth of his first best friend, to the fateful adoption that may have altered the course of history, inside you will find the chronicles of the early years of Frodo Baggins.**

 **DISCLAIMER: I do not own the work of J.R.R. Tolkien, as much as I would like to, and do not intend to step on any toes or steal anyone's property. Several of the characters, however, are mine.**

 **I have a total of 101 chapters planned out for this. I know, that's a lot. But don't be intimidated! I've put a lot of work into research on this and making an effective flow, so it should be interesting enough. This is certainly an experience for me, so I hope it will be one for you as well. On with the story, then...**

20th of Halimath, 1368 S.R.

Bilbo was sitting study in Bag End, going through the pile of letters he'd pulled out of the mailbox that day. He scanned them one by one, reading them aloud then commenting to himself. "A letter from Dora... wonderful," he crooned sarcastically. "Let's see- 'Hello dear Bilbo, I hope you're doing well and that this letter finds you in good health and relaxed as someone of your age should be'-" Here he grunted and gave the letter an accusatory glance. "'Someone of my age'? Completely unnecessary to bring that up, isn't it?" He continued to read, "Formalities, formalities, ah- 'Primula is quite close to giving birth. I hear from Drogo's letters that everyone over there in Buckland is quite excited and ready for the child. He sounded immensely excited himself, the dear, and that's to be expected as he and Prim have been trying for some offspring tirelessly for a few years, as you well know'."

He let out a short laugh. "As you well know," he repeated. "Surely everyone in the Shire knows with the busy-bodied, half-witted gossips that parade about..." He continued, "Let's see, 'I wondered when Drogo last wrote to you, Bilbo. In fact I wondered when anyone last wrote to you other than me and your financial advisers and whatnot. It's fortunate for you that I keep up on the happenings for you, because I'm quite sure you'd never be up-to-date on anything otherwise.' Oh, yes, Dora! Why else might I want to interact with people? This is _exactly_ why I stay in here more than I go out. _This_ is what I get when I try not to be a hermit." He sighed and finished the letter, tossing it out and picking up the next one.

"From Gorbadoc Brandybuck. Hm. Alright then," he opened it and read it to himself. It appeared that Rorimac's time to take his father's place as Master of Brandy Hall, and all of Buckland had come. "I am getting old, Bilbo, and I am ready for a good retirement. We both know Rory is ready to be Master of the Hall and with Saradoc having wed Esmeralda Took this past year, there are hopes for the continuation of his line. I do hope you will visit for your birthday again this year, the children do adore your gifts, strange and dwarven-made as they are. I am looking forward to the arrival of my next grandchild and this time I will enjoy it without responsibilities to Buckland keeping me occupied. I hope the babe arrives when you are here, if you come." The rest of the remarks were mostly formalities but Dora's letter and Gorbadoc's had put an idea in Bilbo's mind.

* * *

23rd of Halimath, 1368 S.R.

Sunset had cast its last rays over Brandy Hall, painting the sky with purple and red as it sank to the ground. Bilbo stopped in his tracks to watch its dying colors reflected in the sky for a moment before moving to the large front door and knocking as loudly as he could without injuring himself. Poppy Proudfoot, a plump, middle-aged serving lass in the kitchens, happened to be hanging up some things in the entry hall and made her way to the great door. She opened it to see a face she remembered from her younger days, a little lass listening to the amazing stories of a mysterious and "cracked" gentlehobbit. Her face broke into a smile. "Master Bilbo! So good to see you! Come in, come in!" She ushered him inside, taking his pack and hanging up his coat and immediately beginning to ask all her questions.

"How was your trip? You walked, didn't you?" She handed him back his pack as he chuckled and simply said "Yes..." "Why, sometimes I think you must really be mad! You've travelled more than anyone I know- and walking, too! You couldn't have hired a wagon, or at least a pony?" Poppy put her hands on her hips disapprovingly. "Well, I enjoy-" "I'm messing with you, dear Bilbo," she cut him off, laughing. "However you got here, you've come at a most opportune time. My sister Anthurium- oh, you do know Anthurium, don't you? She's married to Merimac, Mister Rory's second son-" "Yes, yes, I remember," Bilbo interrupted with a frown. Anthurium was something of a gossip and not Bilbo's favorite person. Poppy went on, unfazed, "Well, Anthurium was helping with the delivery and she told me yesterday that Primula-that's your cousin Drogo's wife-" "I'm aware." "-delivered a healthy baby boy yesterday!" "Really?" Bilbo was quite shocked. Drogo's long awaited son arriving on his own birthday? It was quite an interesting coincidence. "Well... He's healthy now, anyway..." Poppy amended. Bilbo have her a questioning look. "He's quite the tiny lad. Small as anything and he had some trouble breathing at first but his father held him and told him he needed to breathe and he listened! Fascinating, I think," she said. "Well, where are my manners?" She suddenly whispered. "Come on in, I'd best be off and settin' the table, now."

Poppy bustled off as Esmeralda, wife to Saradoc, Rory's eldest son, approached, herding a rowdy group of children out of her way before giving Bilbo a grand hug. "Good old Bilbo!" She laughed knowingly. "How was your trip? You walked, didn't you?" Bilbo, sighing, answered, "Indeed, and will I ever hear the end of it?" "Of course not," she told him matter-of-factly. "Did it go well? Having your birthday on the road as well..." She began leading him down the hall, avoiding rambunctious children playing on the floor. "Yes it did, as a matter of fact," Bilbo said. "My birthday was quite pleasant and I have brought some belated presents for everyone. And how have you been at Brandy Hall?"

Esmeralda stopped and opened a a guest room door, the one he usually used, ushering him in, before answering, "Twice as busy as usual!" Bilbo chuckled and lowered his pack. "But I'm sure you are such a help to have around. I'm dreadfully sorry to have missed your and Saradoc's wedding last Foreyule. The weather was so awful, you know, and the trip would have been dangerous...Congratulations, by the way..." Esmeralda smiled softly. "Oh... No, no, you're forgiven. It's understandable; that was a bad year for snow. The wedding was excellent. I know you'll be wanting to visit with Drogo and Prim and meeting a certain someone, and I'd best be helping Poppy with dinner, now. It's wonderful to have you back, Bilbo." She shut the door behind her.

* * *

The Baggins' quarters in Brandy Hall were connected to the Master's, but at their request had plenty of privacy. "As soon as I'm well enough to travel we're going back to the farm," Primula had told her parents. She could be quite a headstrong lass when she wanted to. She and Drogo were very proud of their little farm in Crickhollow and hated to leave it alone. Drogo stood in the little kitchen connected to their quarters, chopping vegetables and putting them in a stew. A knock came from the door. Primula, feeding Frodo from the rocking chair in the master bedroom, looked up as Drogo ushered Bilbo in quietly.

Pleasantly surprised, she greeted him. "Well, good evening! I must apologize, I'm in the middle of feeding my little Frodo..." She smiled tenderly at the child.  
Trying with some difficulty to hide his amazement at the child in front of him, Bilbo nodded. "Frodo... So that's his name? Beautiful." Drogo cleared his throat and addressed his wife, "Prim, you remember my second cousin Bilbo Baggins, yes?" "Ah, yes! I do now," Primula laughed, recognizing their guest. "You'll be pleased to know that out of all of Drogo's family, you are the first to visit Frodo!" Bilbo was embarrassed, but not surprised. "Indeed, I am, though I must admit I was not even aware you had given birth until I arrived at Brandy Hall. I haven't really spoken with the rest of the Baggins family in awhile, but Dora wrote to me and said you were quite close to delivery. I thought a visit and some exercise were overdue anyway. I suppose the rest of the Bagginses will be along in their carriages and wagons eventually. He's such a tiny lad..."

Primula, attempting to lighten the mood, pulled Frodo out from under her nursing apron and nodded to Bilbo. "Why, you haven't even seen him yet! Here we are!" Drogo pulled a chair over from the desk for Bilbo and said, "Go ahead and have a seat. I'd better make sure the stew isn't catching fire." He winked at his wife and left the room. "I'm surprised not to see your sisters or the other Ladies of the Hall in here with the babe," Bilbo commented. Primula smiled sheepishly at him, "They certainly were before. They've had plenty of time to ooh and ahh over my little lad before I sent them off to help with dinner. I needed some privacy then, but your arrival is most convenient. All done, my love?" Primula asked her squirming son. "There we are. Time to be burped. Would you like to burp him, Bilbo?"

Bilbo, sitting down and feeling suddenly awkward, stuttered, "Oh, I- I don't have any experience burping a child. I'm not sure I'm quite prepared for that job..."  
With a laugh, Primula told him, "Well, then I think you ought to be taught." Primula placed Frodo over her shoulder and patted his back gently. Frodo soon let out a satisfactory burp, and Primula returned him to the original position. "Well done, my lad! There now, open your eyes for Cousin Bilbo, why don't you?" She instructed as she handed him to Bilbo. Bilbo smiled at the new mother. "Well, if they're anything as beautiful as his mother's, I'm sure I'll be quite-" Frodo opened his eyes and blinked at Bilbo once before staring at him, revealing the luminous blue. The gentlehobbit was taken aback. He finished his sentence, now whispering hoarsely, "...Stunned. Sweet Eru, what gorgeous eyes! I can't fathom... I've never seen any eyes as beautiful as this."

Primula gazed at her son. "Can you believe them? Ethereal. I can tell just by looking at him that he is meant for great things." "He's so small, smaller than most infants even, and yet there's this light in him," Bilbo observed. Primula looked up at Bilbo now. "I wouldn't be surprised if we had somehow been sent an elf child from one of your stories..." Bilbo laughed, but did not tear his eyes from the infant's. "Indeed, he looks as if he could be one. Very ethereal. He does look like you and Drogo; the family resemblance isn't lost on him, and both of you have very lovely blue eyes as well, but... My, my. I'll never forget this."

"To look upon that face for the rest of my life!" Primula sighed. "I've truly been blessed. And he's such a good little babe! Only a day in the world and he's already got this wisdom about him. I truly cannot explain it." Whispering again, Bilbo told the boy, "Frodo my lad, your name is perfect for you." The room was silent for a few more minutes before Frodo let out a little yawn. Primula smiled again. "He's starting to look tired. Would you be terribly offended if I put him to bed now?" Snapping out of his thoughts, Bilbo answered her, "Oh, of course not! Do as you must."

He relinquished Frodo to Primula as Drogo walked in, munching on a carrot. "Dinner is ready," he announced. "I hope that it's edible. Bilbo, please feel free to join us! Unless you'd rather dine in the Great Hall with the rest of the family. The rest of the very _extensive_ family..." Bilbo laughed at this. "What have you made, Drogo?" "Chicken and vegetable stew," came the answer. "I must admit I am not a natural cook, but Prim's been patient with me as I've been trying to give her a little break from the housework for obvious reasons." "Indeed!" Bilbo said, standing up. He gestured to Frodo. "I hope I didn't scare your son too much. I seem to have that effect on some people." Primula rose as well and put Frodo in his cradle. "Oh, of course not! His little eyelids are already drooping... You've put him right to sleep!" Drogo looked over the side of the cradle at Frodo and made a funny face while chewing off part of his carrot. "Hello, there, my little star!" He turned to Bilbo with a grin. "Isn't he the brightest?" "He certainly is," Bilbo looked thoughtful for a moment. "He's got quite an ethereal light in him. Little star- That's "elenti" in Elvish. Sindarin, I believe..." Primula gasped. "Elenti! How adorable." Turning to Frodo, she told him, "You've got yourself another pet name, my lad."

She gave him one last kiss on the forehead and headed for the kitchen while Drogo and Bilbo followed, the latter sending the baby one last look. Primula sat down at the small kitchen table and looked up at her husband. "Chicken and vegetable stew you say? Sounds delicious!" Bilbo sat down across from her. "I'm sure it will be." Drogo brought the stew over from the fire and placed it on the table along with some bowls and utensils. "You're staying for dinner then?" He asked his cousin, sitting down. Bilbo smiled. "Yes, I think I shall. We've quite a bit of catching up to do."

* * *

THE NEXT EVENING

Rorimac sat at the right hand of his father, Gorbadoc the Master of Buckland, who was concluding his last evening as the Master of Buckland. There was quite the party prepared for the transition feast and when the clock struck six Gorbadoc stood, wine glass rasied, and a hush fell over the crowd. "I would like to propose a toast- to the new Master of Brandy Hall!" Cheering filled the hall as everyone raised their glasses. Rorimac stood with his father, and nodding to one another they switched places at the table and sat, Rory now in the Master's chair. Rorimac smiled and waited for the clapping to die down before signalling for the first course to be brought out.

It was a feast to remember and the dancing went on for quite some time before the various guests began to disperse. Bilbo, starting to feel his age and ready for bed after a long couple of days, retired early and Drogo and Primula took Frodo into one of the Ladies' parlours, certain various female relatives would want to meet the babe. Indeed, it did not take long for Primula's sisters Amaranth and Asphodel to arrive, Asphodel bringing in her husband Rufus Burrows as well as a host of ladies wishing to coo over the lad. It took a couple of hours for them to disperse until only Amaranth, Asphodel, and Rufus remained with them. Primula sighed, took a sip of her tea, and turned to her sister. "How are things with you and Rufus?" As Asphodel was currently occupied with a mouthful of tea, Rufus answered for her. "Same as always. Work work work..." Drogo looked up from Frodo, who he was holding, and stared curiously at Rufus. "You have quite the interesting job, though," he commented. "It takes a lot to be a Bounder."

Rufus was a fidgety hobbit who didn't make it business to learn the art of conversation and, when all was said and done, was actually quite shy. It had been a long week away from his family in a job that was fairly new to him and, soft-spoken as he was, he did his best not to sound grouchy. "The training is interesting, I suppose, but what's the point of being a Bounder when nothing happens?" Primula had the answer immediately. "Being prepared. Someone has to be. The Shire mustn't be caught unawares if a threat from the Outside presents itself." At this, Amaranth put down her knitting in annoyance. "'Threats from the Outside'? Really, Prim? Have you been listening to that Mad Baggins or something?" Asphodel, distressed, whispered, "Amaranth, no..." Amaranth was the second eldest in the family, after Rory. She was the oldest of the three sisters and yet had passed her coming-of-age quite a long time ago without a single suitor. She had never courted anyone in her life and as a result remained slightly bitter toward her two married sisters and their flourishing families. Asphodel was closer to Primula and, always the peace-loving sweetheart, wanted only to prevent the inevitable argument.

Amaranth went on, heedless, "The most likely thing to invade the Shire is a predator from the Old Forest, and that's what the training is for. Bounders don't need to waste their resources on threats that don't exist. Their training seems completely practical to me, and if it's boring then that's what you signed on for." Rufus, quite uncomfortable at being argued over, decided to put a stop to it. "I didn't mean to complain, Amaranth, merely to point out that the Shire is quite safe," he told her awkwardly. "That is, in fact, a blessing. I'm sure a dull day at work is a much better situation than a disaster, however exciting. If you'll excuse me, I'd like another helping of cake..." With that, he left the room, glad to have the social situation out of the way.

There was silence for a few seconds as Amaranth picked up her knitting again and Primula took another sip of her tea. "I do think Rufus is right," she said softly, with her eyes on Frodo. "Our cozy little corner of the world has been spared much." Amaranth shook her head, but didn't even bother looking up from her knitting this time. "'Spared'? How in the Shire would you know the rest of the world isn't a peaceful place? What does it matter anyway?" Asphodel, desperately trying to change the subject, forced out some pleasantries to Primula. "I must say, the Hall has begun an excellent harvest this year." Primula smiled at her. It was a very Asphodel-like thing to say. "Have you, Asphodel?" she played along. "I'll have to be sure to visit the Hall more this year. Besides, Frodo needs to get to know his cousins. How has Milo been doing?"

Asphodel, smiling, became much more relaxed. "Very well. He's excited to be almost done struggling through his schooling." Drogo, who had kept silent in his care for Frodo, perked up at the mention of Asphodel's only son, and his favorite nephew. "I'm sure," he laughed. "I remember how much he hated keeping up with his correspondence once he learned his letters." Amaranth allowed a small smirk to creep on her face. "He still does!" She told them. "Doesn't understand why he ought to write to others in the Hall." Asphodel shook her head knowingly. "He doesn't want anymore practice. Ready for the real world, he says," Asphodel explained. "Not if he doesn't keep up with his correspondence," Amaranth mumbled.

Frodo was beginning to squirm in his father's arms. Drogo signalled with a nod to his wife that he was ready to hand him over. "Come here, Elenti," Prim said as she took her little bundle into her arms. Amaranth lowered her knitting again and asked with a quirked eyebrow, "'Elenti'? What in the Shire is that nonsense supposed to mean?" "Little star," Drogo answered her. Amaranth narrowed her eyes at Primula. "I don't even want to know where that came from. Father and Mother would disapprove." Primula, quite ready to be done treated like a child, youngest member of the family or not, was clearly upset. "I'm old enough to make my own decisions regarding what Father and Mother disapprove of, in case you've forgotten."

Saradoc walked in, completely missing the tense atmosphere and said enthusiastically, "More wine, anyone?" Frodo began to cry as Sara glanced around the room, confused.

* * *

When all the guests had departed and even those in the parlour had gone to bed, there still remained a few hobbits in the Great Hall at the dining table finishing off their bottle of Old Winyards as the moon rose in the velvet-dark sky and crickets took up their calls. Saradas, the third child after Rory and Amaranth, and ever the task-oriented, responsible one, had sent the last of the dirty dishes off with the kitchen maids and retired with his quiet and subdued wife, Amalda. Then only Rory, his second son Merimac, and his two other brothers, Dodinas and Dinodas, remained. Dodinas and Dinodas were two gentlehobbits who, to most, acted as if they had never left their youth. Both were less ambitious in business and managing than in courting lasses and drinking good ale. They had both passed the prime courting age for certain, but ladies never seemed to fail to be interested in a rich gentlehobbit with good connections.

Knowing full well that Dino wouldn't stop drinking until the wine bottle was gone, Rory's wife Menegilda had sent him off to bed before leaving herself with an admonition to Rory not to stay up too late. Dodinas himself was a bit tipsy but kept up the conversation in his cheerful manner. "How does it feel, brother?" He asked Rory with a chuckle. "Well, it won't really feel different until I'm handling the legal matters and whatnot," Rory snorted. Merimac smiled from his seat. "Then it's a good thing the legal matters are your favorite, Father. I never liked them much." Rorimac took one look at his youngest son and laughed. "Oh, I'm aware, Merimac. Didn't you ever wonder why I gave Saradoc the more intense finance lessons?" Merimac shrugged. "I suppose I assumed it was because he'll be the Master one day. He needs it more." "Indeed he does," Rorimac nodded. "But you put quite a lot of energy into subtly hinting to me that finances aren't your favorite in your time." Mac beamed and asked, "So it _did_ work?"

Dodinas laughed at him, a little more loudly than was necessary. "I'd say so, but 'you'll still need to handle your finances and learn how to manage your land'". He was repeating what he and Dino had been told many times by their parents. "Not to mention culture and etiquette," Rory mumbled, eyeing his brother. Merimac kept smiling. "Actually I didn't mind those lessons so much," he reported, thinking of his wife. "Anthurium is the queen of etiquette!" Just then Saradoc came in and cleared his throat. Everyone looked to him and waited for him to speak. "Uncle Dodi, Mother is asking for you." Dodinas sighed before getting up, stretching, and muttering "That blasted Menegilda always has to have a handle on things" before walking out. Merimac stood as well, catching his brother's eye. "We ought to be getting to bed, too. It's far past midnight and there's work to do tomorrow." "Congratulations, Father," they chorused, each giving him a pat on the shoulder before leaving the Hall. Rory decided to sit outside for a bit and by the light of the moon, smoked his pipe and looked upon his inheritance and the land around him. Things were changing in Buckland.

* * *

There were celebrations lasting the entire week for the new Master as well as the new baby, and at the close of them, Bilbo finally took his leave. "Remind me to visit you, if you will," he told Drogo as he said farewell. "I'd like to keep an eye on this little one," with that he smiled fondly at little Frodo in his mother's arms, and left Brandy Hall. Frodo's first year was full of surprises. He remained a tiny lad, and no matter how many times a day he was fed, he would not fatten up the way other lads did. His skin remained pale and soft, and no matter how much his mother brought him out in the sun, he would not tan like other lads did. His hair stayed very dark brown and the cute little curls atop his head and tiny feet grew steadily. The disarming blue of his eyes never faded. To his parents' delight, his first real smile was only two weeks after his birth. It was a big, comforting smile that set off his eyes brilliantly. His first laugh was on First Yule, and to those listening, it sounded like the high, clear tone of bells ringing triumphantly.

It was a fine day at the end of Rethe when Amaranth and Anthurium were over at the Baggins' farm in Crickhollow to help with the spring cleaning (Amaranth making a pot of tea) that Drogo suddenly shot out of his seat and exclaimed, "Prim! Primula, look!" His wife and Anthurium came rushing in from a back room where they were going through boxes of mathoms and a gasp escaped Primula's lips. Frodo was struggling across the room, and crawling for the first time. "Oh, Frodo! Look at you!" She turned to Anthurium. "Didn't I tell you he was a fast learner?" Amaranth shook her head from the fireplace. "The babe can crawl. Congratulations." Drogo picked up on the sarcastic hint in her voice and frowned. "Amaranth! This is an important step for him," he told her, slightly hurt. Amaranth cracked a smile. "Only it isn't a step. He's just crawling." Soon the bitterness was forgotten and even Amaranth was laughing at her jest.

By his first birthday, Frodo was weaned and walking, and by his second, he was stringing together sentences that had his parents hanging onto every word. Visits from Cousin Bilbo weren't as frequent as any of them would have liked, but they were always filled with wonder and delight. In his toddler's brain, Frodo had worked out that Bilbo was more of an Uncle to him than a cousin, especially considering their ages. And so he took to calling him "Uncle Bilbo" and every Yule his favorite uncle would make his trip to Brandy Hall at the same time that Frodo and his parents did, and every Yule during story-time Frodo was his best listener out of all the children. At the occasional times Bilbo would travel to their farm in Crickhollow or the Bagginses would travel to Bag End, Frodo begged and pleaded for stories of magical elves and heroes of men. During the Yuledays, however, it was Bilbo's special time to tell his own story, of his adventure with the dwarves of Erebor. Frodo heard more of it at Yule every year and his tenth Yule, he became enthralled with the idea of floating down the river in a barrel.

It was spring of that year, and his mother had been quite sick. He didn't really understand why she had been so sad after the doctor left. She would make a full recovery from her illness, and Drogo and Frodo were very happy to hear it. But Primula remained sad, and did not pay much attention to her son for a couple of days. On a morning when his mother stayed in bed and his father was in the fields, Frodo decided to go on an adventure. He made his way down to the river, finding himself an empty barrel outside of one of the riverside homes and jumped in it, before rolling himself into the Brandywine. It wasn't as fun as he had hoped, as the river wasn't rushing very quickly like he expected. But he was quickly faced with another problem; this was not an elven barrel. It was not bigger than him and could not hold his weight, small as he was. As he was reaching out his arm to try and paddle his way downstream, he heard a deafening crack, and the next thing he knew, the barrel was gone, and he was struggling to stay above water. He then realized he probably should have learned to swim first. Frodo had barely struggled for half a minute when his arms started tiring and his splutters became less, and he knew he was sinking. He took a gulp of air and squinted up at the bank. His father was sprinting down it, along with a figure he didn't recognize. He reached out weakly and then even his fingers had drifted under. When Frodo next opened his eyes, it was to see the unfamiliar figure grabbing hold of him.

Frodo clung on tight until he was deposited on the ground, hacking and coughing up river water with his father's hand rubbing his back. The tears started coming and eventually he was persuaded to explain what in the Shire he had been doing. When Drogo had sighed at his tale and rocked his precious son some more, he explained that he had seen Frodo go off and had followed him, running into the riverside home that Frodo had gotten the barrel from and calling for help when he saw his son go under. The fisher-hobbit that lived there had rescued Frodo and both Bagginses were quite grateful to him. Drogo was not a Bucklander by birth, and having been raised in the non-swimming society of Hobbiton, regrettably never learned to swim. But he decided then and there that Frodo needed to learn. Learning what had happened to her darling boy brought Primula out of her melancholy shell and convinced her to give her son some proper swimming lessons. She, of course, had been raised on these waters, and there was no one better qualified. It was a memorable summer, full of lazy days by the water, and hard days of work and swimming lessons. Frodo took after his mother once he learned the basics and was soon quite at home in the Brandywine River. His father looked on proudly from the bank, and would wade out as far as he could to congratulate him. Those summer nights were nights of stargazing together and catching glow worms and also of whittling lessons and practice. Drogo had made Frodo a small wooden pony to pull around on a string when he was younger, and Frodo, fascinated with it, wanted to make something like it himself. The years passed at a comfortable pace, and the family was content with their way of life and each other. They had a bright future and a home full of light and love. It came as a horrible shock when all that ended.

* * *

Anthurium was five months pregnant with her and Mac's first child. Frodo was twelve and had many friends among the other farm boys in Crickhollow and at Brandy Hall. He was very excited to be having a new relation born who could, in time, perhaps become his best friend. He had convinced his parents to allow a weekend long trip to the ancestral hole in order to get in touch with the maternal family again and enjoy a pleasant visit. The first two days passed splendidly, with Frodo getting up to all kinds of mischief and having loads of fun with the other lads milling about the Hall. The third and last night was a clear, sweet, romantic one with the moon providing a shimmer of light and the surrounding darkness comforting. An old longing was struck up in Primula, and, with little resistance, she was able to coax Drogo into going off on a romantic boating adventure, just for the evening.

They tucked Frodo into his bed in their guest room, each one kissing a cheek and giving a warm goodnight hug before they set off. For years afterward it was debated what really happened, and no one but the two of them ever knew. Drogo had rowed out to a tranquil spot before pulling in his oars and revealing a flower to hand to his wife. She blushed like a tweenaged lass and took it, stroking the petals thoughtfully. The two of them talked for hours in that boat, about the past, present, and future, but in large part, about Frodo. The wind picked up, and neither of them had noticed for awhile that they had drifted downstream.

Drogo suddenly paused in the conversation and looked around. The surroundings were different than where they had started and a persistent breeze played with his wife's dark locks. Primula's bright eyes suddenly widened with fear. "Drogo- look out!" He whipped around just in time to see a boulder in the river crash into his end of the boat. Water immediately began to fill it and he rose quickly in alarm. Slipping, he fell over the edge with a shout and splashed into the now fast-moving water. "Drogo? Drogo!" Primula leapt in after him, trying to pull his sinking body up, but her skirts weighed her down. She couldn't hold the combined weight but would not drop her husband, who had stopped struggling against the water and fallen unconscious. She raised her tear-filled eyes to the surface, where the moon shone down, still as clear and sweet as before. Primula raised her delicate hand towards the surface but didn't find purchase on anything. She gave one last pull to her husband's limp body before lowering her head in resignation. Succumbing to her starving lungs, she closed her eyes and fell to the bottom, joining her husband in the depths of the river. Their last thoughts were with Frodo.

* * *

 **A/N: I hope this was an enjoyable start. If you are wondering about the Shire months, look at a Shire calendar that has the real-world equivalents. Also, if you are confused about how everyone is related, it would probably do you some good to find a Brandybuck family tree to** **reference. The one in the back of my Lord of the Rings one-volume giant has done me a world of good. And finally, what I have done is that I have taken characters I don't know much of anything about just by looking at that family tree and, by making inferences that may or may not mean anything, I have given them something of a personality. Of course, everybody has shades of grey, so nothing is assumed.**

 **NEXT CHAPTER: A tragedy occurs that later defines Frodo's life and the initial aftermath is damaging.**

 **Please review, constructive criticism and other comments are most certainly welcome, and have a great day!** **Thank you -TFF**


	2. Part 2- The River's Claim

**BRANDY HALL**

 **Volume One**

 **Part 2: The River's Claim**

 **SUMMARY: Welcome to Brandy Hall, the great ancestral home of the Brandybuck family, often described as a rabbit's warren filled with soft-headed hobbits dwelling on the wrong side of the river and doing things as preposterous as swimming and tree-climbing. Or more precisely, welcome to the story of some of the earliest and arguably most important years in the life of the most famousest of hobbits. From his own birth, to the drowning of his parents, to the birth of his first best friend, to the fateful adoption that may have altered the course of history, inside you will find the chronicles of the early years of Frodo Baggins.**

 **DISCLAIMER: I do not own the work of J.R.R. Tolkien, as much as I would like to, and do not intend to step on any toes or steal anyone's property. Several of the characters, however, are mine.**

 **School has just started for me, so that will really cut into my timeframe, but I will try to update as often as possible. Just so you know, this is not necessarily an AU, as it fits into canon pretty well, but I will make a few adjustments to suit the needs of the story, as far as character development and plot (Gorbadoc being alive for example, Pippin's age much later in the story, the fact that a character called 'Anthurium' is in it, although not a UK-native flower, etc.) As always, thank you so much for reading and enjoy...**

Frodo woke to the cheerful chirping of the robins perched on a tree outside their guestroom, heralding in the early Astron morning. It seemed like any other morning as the sun came up, stirring all the creatures nestled in darkness. Except two. The bodies of Drogo and Primula Baggins had washed up on the bank in the wee hours of the morning, unbeknownst to anyone, until one of the river-hobbits walked outside to begin the day and discovered the morbid surprise in the water. The Master was immediately sent for, awakened without explanation, and ushered outside where his dear sister and brother-in-law were being hauled up Buck Hill, motionless and breathless, on stretchers. The Master of Buckland fell to his knees.

When Frodo opened his eyes just after dawn, the morning was silent, save for the robins chattering away as if it were a regular day. Not remembering his parents coming in last night to give him another kiss and go to bed after their boat ride, he made for their room first. The room was untouched, the bed still made. But this did not concern Frodo. He was observant for a twelve year old and knew his mother habitually made the bed first thing after getting out of it. Heeding the grumbling of his own stomach, and reasoning that his parents had probably gone to breakfast and allowed him to lie in, he headed next to the Great Hall. The large room was completely empty. Timidly, he called out "Hello?" only to hear his own voice echo back at him off the high vaulted ceilings.

He heard the patter of hobbit feet from the kitchens and turned his head just in time to see Poppy, one of the kitchen lasses, approaching him with a horrified look on her face. "Miss Poppy?" he asked, slowly backing away as she continued toward him at her brisk pace. "What's wrong, Miss Poppy?" She was still looking at him like he had sprouted wings. Her gaze held a mixture of deep pity and terror, and her breathing was loud and nervous. "Master Frodo, dear..." Her voice shook and she had to gulp past a catch in her throat. "I think you'd better go on back to bed now." "But, why?" He asked her, still backing away slowly. "Isn't first breakfast ready? I didn't miss it did I?" He knew it was still much too early for second breakfast, but he had to account for everything. Poppy shook her head slowly, still staring holes in him. He was becoming scared now. "I think you'd better go back to bed," she told him again, still advancing. "Where is everyone?" Frodo whispered, his back against the doorpost now. Poppy said nothing, but reached out to grab Frodo's arm in hers. Frodo ducked this, and bolted out of the room and into the maze of hallways just outside.

He nervously asked himself what the trouble could be, why the Hall was so quiet, why Miss Poppy was acting so strangely, and why he couldn't find his parents. The sinking feeling that he knew what had happened settled in his stomach. He ran from room to room, trying to eliminate the possibility... That one impossible possibility. He heard a faint cry from outside- from the front of the Hall. He dashed for that direction as quickly as his legs would carry him. Sure enough, as he flung open the massive door, a thick crowd of hobbits stood, silent as mouses staring at something concealed by their own shifting bodies. It was his Aunt Asphodel that had cried out, but it wasn't in pain, as he spotted her sobbing into Uncle Rufus' jacket desperately. He wandered up to the crowd, trying to identify anyone else. His Aunt Amaranth he found standing closer to him, ashen faced and trembling. Frodo's heart rate picked up. Uncle Dodinas and Uncle Dinodas looked very nervous, pacing back and forth and shaking their heads in complete denial. Uncle Rory was at the front of the crowd, on his knees with hands pressed firmly to the ground and head hung. Uncle Saradas was behind him, with a hand on his shoulder and the other scrubbing furiously at his own tear-streaked face. Frodo felt as if a stone had dropped into his gut. He saw Aunt Menegilda with her protective arms around her sons, Saradoc and Merimac, all of them hugging each other tightly, and their wives Esmeralda and Anthurium embracing as well nearby. His throat closed up.

He recognized several servants, shaking their heads and muttering to themselves, and the various children who were visiting with relations or boarding at the Hall for an apprenticeship had their faces pressed against aprons and weskits, their parents hiding them from whatever horror it was that everyone was staring at. Frodo caught a choked breath and had to steady himself. He had scanned the crowd and found no sign of his parents. He was about to push through some of the taller hobbits in front of him to see the object of their attentions, when a shout came from the Hall that startled everyone. "Master Frodo!" Poppy yelled from the front path. "Somebody catch Master Frodo!" Hobbits swiveled around looking for the faunt that had walked in, escaping their notice, but it was the sharp-eyed Amaranth that found him. "Come Frodo!" She called to him, seeing the bewildered child a few feet in front of her. She ran toward him, grasping him by the arm. "Don't look, child," she told him, choking on the catch in her throat. "For Eru's sakes, don't look." Frodo felt his Aunt's tears falling on his hair as his face was pressed into her apron. He didn't want to look, he didn't want to face it, but at the same time he needed to see, he needed to know. He wriggled out of her grasp and pushed his way through the crowd, to the center, where two figures lay motionless on the ground.

His trembling increased tenfold. It couldn't be true... It _couldn't_ be... _They're just sleeping, I'm sure of it_ , he told himself. But he knew in his heart that they were not. And so he knelt by the dead forms of his wet and motionless parents.

Frodo reached out to touch them. The pure cold lifelessness was such a shock to him that he jerked his hand back. Instead he stared into their eyes, then laid his head down on their chests one by one. Again, he lifted his head in horror. He sat back on his heels and took in a shaky breath. Drogo's weskit had smelled like a comforting blend of books, raspberries, and pipeweed. When Frodo hugged his mother, he was soothed by the scent of honey, cotton, and lavender. But it was all gone. There was no steady heartbeat to listen to, no soft lullabies to sing him to sleep. Not even a familiar smell to gently bid him close his eyes and drift into his dreams. There was only pale, wet skin, sightless eyes, and lifeless lips. There was only death.

Frodo began to hyperventilate. His rapid breathing gave way to a shriek of disbelief that startled his relatives into action. It took Aunt Amaranth and Uncle Rory to drag him away, kicking and screaming in the Master's arms and finally the crowd was invigorated. The Brandybucks hastily went back inside to the Master's Quarters while the servants and other visitors retired to their rooms and the four river-hobbits that had brought the bodies laid them in one of the mathom rooms near the front of the Hall. Frodo weakly stretched out his hand over Rory's shoulder, hoping his parents would stand up and take it, hoping it was a trick or a joke or _something_. He could only reach out helplessly as he was carried away, struggling. Frodo was deposited onto his bed and finally cried himself into an exhausted sleep.

* * *

He awoke much as he had that morning, with few thoughts in his head and the usual peace of mind that comes with a few hours of dreamless sleep. The truth hit him like a brick when he sat up to see Aunt Asphodel crying in a seat in the corner, with Cousin Milo wrapped up in her arms, and Esmeralda perched on the side of his bed, looking at him anxiously. "What time is it?" Frodo whispered. "Just past noon. Have you eaten today?" Frodo shook his head. Wasn't that obvious? He did not dare look Esme in the eye as he asked his next, and last, question, "Are they really...Did they really...?" Esmeralda nodded as tears took her again. "They're gone," she said, pulling Frodo close. But he did not cry. He looked out the window at the tree where the robins still played, and life still went on, heedless of the end of the world.

* * *

"Where's Frodo?" Rory finally asked, an hour before midnight. Menegilda looked up from her cup of tea, just another cup out of the many she had already made that day, and told her husband, "He's in his room, I presume." When the Master took it upon himself to visit his newly orphaned nephew, he found him in his room, staring out the window, completely emotionless. It shook Rory up a bit, but it did not stop him from determinedly sitting down on the bed next to him. "Frodo?" He had to say it twice, before the lad looked at him. The stare he gave was full of raw emotion and pain. Rory could sense a coldness creeping into those stunning blue eyes as the defenses went up. "Has-" Rory stuttered. "Has anyone actually told you what happened?" Frodo simply shook his head. Rory took in a shuddering breath. "Your parents went on short, romantic, boating trip last night, remember?"

Frodo lowered his eyes and nodded. Rory gazed at him sadly for a moment before lowering his voice and continuing, "Something must have happened out there last night...We aren't quite sure what, but early this morning the river-hobbit found their bodies washed up ashore. They drowned somehow Frodo, and I know Primula-er, your mother- was an exceptional swimmer but these things happen..." He trailed off, taking a deep breath to rid himself of the emotions welling up inside. For Eru's sakes! He was the most eloquent out of anyone in the Hall, the top of the class in his student days, and Master of Buckland for twelve years, he should be firm and grounded enough to deliver this news to his pitiable nephew.

"So...you understand Frodo, that there is nothing anyone could have done," Rory finally informed him, in a most stiff manner. He paused again as the child continued to look emptily at his bedspread. Both were unsure who Rory was really trying to convince with that statement. Able only to approach things logically, with a controlled amount of emotion expressed at any given time, the Master decided to change subjects to something more practical. "Have you eaten? It's quite past your bedtime and you'll need your sleep. Into bed now and things will be better in the morning." Frodo slid underneath the covers and lay down, gaze still blank as ever, before turning to his Uncle who bit back a sigh at the terrified eyes full of barely contained feelings. The lad didn't answer him, only turned away again. What were adults supposed to _say_ to children suffering an enormous loss? "Don't cry now, lad," Rory settled for and left the room before his grief got the better of him.

Frodo let silent tears fall as he considered that if his parents had been there, they would have tucked him in, given him a story and a goodnight kiss. But his lot was now that of an orphan, a word he would have to start getting used to.

* * *

Restless that first night after her little sister died, Amaranth took a bit of a stroll around the Hall in the couple of hours before dawn and entered the Great Hall to find Dodinas and Dinodas, completely drunk and slumped over a dining table. "The idiots learn that Primmie gets herself drowned and then chug a few bottles of wine instead of helping the family through this crisis? Contemptible!" she muttered to herself before stalking into her favourite parlour and pulling out her knitting. If Amaranth's reaction to the death of her sister was to lash out angrily at everyone she came across, then Asphodel's was to cry pitifully into the shoulder of everyone she came across. Or, whenever possible, to bury herself into some thought-consuming task that would adequately distract, such as helping the kitchen staff personally for the first time in her life, and at the crack of dawn no less, or nursing Dodi and Dino back to health that morning from their particularly nasty hangovers.

Saradoc, too, would throw himself into helping someone else in order to forget his own grief, but realizing his mother had his father covered, he retired with Esmeralda for most of the day and mourned with her. Merimac was such a lively and happy personality that it slightly terrified Anthurium to see him downcast so terribly much and, pregnant or not, she was the primary healer in Brandy Hall, and she kept to the healing ward, keeping a close watch on Gorbadoc and Mirabella, who had just lost their youngest child. Saradas was not to be seen for most of that day, being out and about Bucklebury and attempting to single handedly address all the legal matters involved with the death of his sister and her husband. As that started with pronouncing them dead, he regretfully had it done first thing that day, and then stalled for time, feeling quite cowardly but unready to face his new reality. His wife, Amalda, stuck to the shadows anyway, but budged from them ever so slightly that first day, knowing the rest of the Bagginses would need to be informed of the tragedy that had occurred yesterday and its important consequences. She wrote out letter after letter and then gave them to the post-hobbits, with the Master's approved seal.

The Master himself, remained in the Master's Quarters, mostly in their room or one of the parlours, with his wife. He was tired, exhausted really, and upset with himself. "I'm not the person to handle Frodo, 'Gilda," he told her. Menegilda shook her golden curls at him. "You raised two fine children, Rory, and lads, too! Surely you can comfort the child?" "You know how hard it is for me, dearest, when people are overcome with emotion, to deal with them. Am I to tell the lad what to wear, and when to eat, and how to behave? He needs a mother, Menegilda," Rory said from his armchair, running his hands through his disheveled hair for the hundredth time. "He needs _his_ mother, my love," his wife told him, placing her hand on his shoulder. She suddenly became thoughtful. "The last time we had a child living in the Master's Quarters was when Mac was a child. Did you know that, Rory? Merimac and Anthurium's babe was to be the next one, but if Frodo stays here at the Hall after you discuss where he would be best acclimated, it will be him." "A child in the Master's Quarters," Rory repeated, lost in thought.

Frodo was seen almost not at all that day. He picked at second breakfast, luncheon, and supper, but missed the other four meals entirely and kept to his room the rest of the time. No one knew what he was doing in there, if anything, and no one really questioned it, for if they did someone would always answer, "Oh, he needs his space. He's a lad around the age where he needs space, isn't he?" or "Perhaps he's with someone else." Only everyone assumed he was with someone else, and so he wasn't found, and wasn't looked for. The second day, Esmeralda made it her business to find the lad, worried he might get some notion of wandering off towards the river to the same fate his parents found. If he was unnerved at all by her constant spying on him, he did not show it. Still he only picked at his food, and spoke only through a nod or shake of the head. Most everyone was too scared to ask him anything anyway.

With little to do that would take her mind off of the tragedy that had befallen two days ago, Asphodel immersed herself in the funeral plans. Even past the funeral, she knew Bagginses and other relations of the couple would be showing up to pay their respects and visit the Hall and rooms had to be prepared and larders loaded. The most well respected Bagginses would be coming for a week or two, or longer if the food was good. Bilbo Baggins was expected to be among them. But he wasn't in his stately hole the night of the accident, or the couple of days since. The letter sat unnoticed in his mailbox, and the tragedy unrevealed to his mind.

* * *

Bilbo Baggins had come back much changed from his well known but widely rejected adventure with the dwarves all those years ago and his practice of taking long walks of exploration and camping out in the woods to study the world around him or even meet some elves on their way to the Grey Havens had stuck with him. He cared very little now about the opinions of others. He knew he was respected only because of his title and position in most cases, save for the respect of his gardener and his family. He had all but given up visiting Brandy Hall or The Great Smials, those great ancestral homes of the other hobbit families of status, social requirement or not. His visits in the past few years had been short and usually only because he was stopping by. He felt a twinge of regret when it came to Drogo, Primula, and Frodo. He knew they actually enjoyed his visits and would be wondering about the reason for why he never came around anymore. He shook that thought away. They were a busy couple with their own farm to run, a child to raise, and two large, important families to attend to. Surely they wouldn't miss him... There it was again. That thought, that idea of taking off and going on another adventure.

He knew he wasn't very young anymore. He didn't look like a hobbit of ninety, but he was, and could be considered elderly. The Sackville-Bagginses had been waiting for him to finally drop dead for years so they could get their hands on Bag End. Bilbo longed to leave the Shire again, and have it like it was in the wild where he was free of social obligations and stuffy relatives gossipping their heads off. But to leave Bag End for too long meant that he would be proclaimed dead again, and Bag End would go to Otho Sackville-Baggins, who would then pass it down to his despicable son, Lotho, when the time came, as was written in their wills. Bilbo was much too old to be marrying and having children, and even if he did, he would feel guilty about going through the motions only to secure himself an heir. And so he could not up and away again until he had solved his little dilemma, and found a hobbit that fit the requirements.

This did not mean he would not travel to all ends of the Shire and discover as much as he could inside of it, and so that was what he did in the meantime. The thought would continually pop up, however, that _What harm could it really do? Why shouldn't I just leave?_ Bilbo would shake off that idea and keep walking. Every day he became more sure that these thoughts came from the Ring. He had found the little bauble in Gollum's cave, and it had come in handy many a time during the Quest, and since. He enjoyed slipping it on to hide from his relations, especially Lobelia Sackville-Baggins when she came knocking, wanting to steal some more of his silver spoons under the guise of demanding to have tea with her reclusive relative. There was something about it that would mess with his mind, however, as he had discovered. It worked slowly on him, over great lengths of time. He had completely denied it to himself at first when he wondered if it could be the Ring, but there was no denying when he wanted to strangle his relatives instead of hide from them, that it was the Ring telling him that, and not his own mind. He didn't like the idea that the gossips calling him 'Mad Baggins' were right, but he knew he was not mad because of his adventure, and would continue to ignore the phrase.

So he continued his little "adventures" around the Shire, paying no mind to the hobbits around him thinking him ridiculous. And so when he was three days out fro Bag End and a letter appeared in his mailbox he was not there to read it, and continued merrily on his way. He had no clue how needed he was right now.

* * *

 **A/N: You can probably understand that writing these first few chapters will be very difficult. Getting into Frodo's head here requires a lot of remembering the losses of my own life and the reactions of myself and those around me, and that's not easy... On a less depressing note, please stick around and let me know what you think, especially so I can address any issues you might find. Support is life! Tell me how you are enjoying my interpretations of the lesser known members of the Brandybuck family. If you want more Bilbo, never fear- he will show up a couple more times in this volume.**

 **REVIEWS: Thank you very much for reviewing, Alfirin B and Frodo's sister! I hope everything is clear and I'm glad you noticed Bilbo's involvement. Stay tuned!**

 **NEXT CHAPTER: Drogo and Primula's funeral brings both families to Brandy Hall, and Asphodel deals with their departure in her own way.**

 **Tell me what you think, and have a great day! Thank you -TFF**


	3. Part 3- We Commit Thee

**BRANDY HALL**

 **Volume One**

 **Part 3: We Commit Thee**

 **SUMMARY: Welcome to Brandy Hall, the great ancestral home of the Brandybuck family, often described as a rabbit's warren filled with soft-headed hobbits dwelling on the wrong side of the river and doing things as preposterous as swimming and tree-climbing. Or more precisely, welcome to the story of some of the earliest and arguably most important years in the life of the most famousest of hobbits. From his own birth, to the drowning of his parents, to the birth of his first best friend, to the fateful adoption that may have changed the course of history, inside you will find the chronicles of the early years of Frodo Baggins.**

 **DISCLAIMER: I do not own the work of J.R.R. Tolkien, as much as I would like to, and do not intend to step on any toes or steal anyone's property. Several of the characters, however, are mine.**

 **Maybe you noticed, maybe you didn't, but I haven't updated anything since over a year ago. The reason? I lost all my hours and months of research and drafts for this project, and then gave up on rebuilding it a few weeks in. What inspired me to attempt to continue this story is a very, very difficult loss I'm experiencing. I went back and read the scene in the past chapter where Frodo runs from room to room with growing anxiety and denial when he finally sees his parents' bodies. I realized that this was exactly how I'm feeling and how I felt receiving the news about this situation. So, I'm back. Writing became my outlet and here we are, with the next installment. It's different than it was in drafts, but probably is more accurate now. Sorry it's also rather long. Warning: Intense feels trip ahead (but that shouldn't really be a surprise). Without further ado, here you go...**

Rory and Primula were eighteen years apart and had such different personalities that they were never extremely close. But Primula was Rory's youngest sister; she was his baby, she was everyone's baby. And as much as she relished certain aspects of that title there were some parts of it that she would have preferred to have done away with. People's noses in her business was one of those things she wanted to keep away, and Rory gave her all the privacy she and her family had needed to accommodate her. Now, with an incident like this, he was second guessing himself. Perhaps he should have kept a closer eye on them. Perhaps he should have popped his head in every once in awhile to make sure they were well. As he slowly began to accept what had happened, he thought perhaps he should have appreciated her more, treasured her more, _loved_ her more... but it didn't matter now. It was all too late for that. She and Drogo had gone wherever spirits go knowing what love they did know.

As head of the family, the Hall, and all of Buckland, he knew he needed to set the standard for how to relate to the tragedy before the Brandybucks. And that meant it was time to get out of his chair and his room and the Master's quarters completely and resume with his life. How to go about mourning in the Shire was usually fairly straightforward, but the problem with this situation was that the deceased were still young, relatively speaking. They were not elderly, they hadn't thought about at length and detailed their wills, they hadn't told those they left behind where to bury them or how to go on. What would make Prim proud? What everyone always said in the wake of a death was "what would make them proud?" Usually it was to lift the spirits of the grievers by focusing on the future and to think about what the deceased would want for them to do about their absence. Only usually the deceased was well on in years and unafraid of death, if not ready for it. How was anyone to know what would make Prim proud in her absence if she had never thought about it herself?

Rory could only hope that she wanted for those she left behind what everyone always wants for those they leave behind; to be able to move on and be happy. So that was how Brandy Hall was going to approach this. "Give Primula and Drogo the appreciation and love they deserve, and let them rest while we move on from this." It would be harder for some than for others, and it certainly wouldn't be easy with their bodies lying around in the mathom room still. Rory remembered when his grandmother died how strange things had been around the Hall directly afterward. He supposed any hobbit felt a loss when someone died, but everyone knew everyone at Brandy Hall, and every bond was strong. So every hobbit felt a loss, and it was a painful one. The Master of Buckland knew the Shire hadn't seen such a tragic premature death since a lass in the Great Smials had a stillborn child fifteen years ago. Either way, it was about time Buckland got their act together and handled the situation.

Rorimac shook his head and stood up, keeping a firm hand on his armrest as the blood rushed to his head. A couple of deep breaths and stretches later, he was off to the fields. A few farmhands were sitting around, muttering and glancing about. Seeing Rory approach, they leapt to their feet and stuttered out a polite greeting, faces as red as tomatoes. "Why aren't you working?" Rory sighed. "N-Not meanin' any disrespect, sir," one of the lads got out. "But we haven't seen our masters since the drowning..." Rory's eyes narrowed. "But the hobbits I employed here are from Waymoot. How could they possibly be connected enough to the Bagginses to need to take a full three days off to mourn without telling anyone? It sounds like they're just trying to get out of work to me." An awkward moment of silence passed with eyes shifting back and forth across the ground. The breeze died down and the insects in the trees grew louder.

Another of the Hobbit-lads finally piped up, "Not to be a squealer, Master Rory, but I'd say that's correct. None of them have any Baggins or Brandybuck relations for several generations at least, for certain none they keep up with, and none of them ever met Mister Drogo or Miss Primula. I think they did have that idea in mind, to use the accident as an excuse. Not that it's my place to judge, sir-" "Yes, alright, that's enough, lad," Rory cut him off. "I'll make sure your masters are found and dealt with, but you lot get back to work. I want all the land that should have been inspected and cleared for planting during the last three days ready to go by the end of the week, understood? And next time no one makes an effort to come to work, notify the Hall and get your own work done anyway." Heads bobbed and a chorus of "yessir" echoed before each lad scampered off to his own task. Rorimac departed from the fields after a few more similar visits among the field workers, and several visits that were veritably better because the managers and workers had continued on with their tasks despite the tragedy that halted others. Having done his business, he returned to the Hall to find Saradas.

Instead, he found Sara's wife Amalda who was on her way back from town. "You wouldn't happen to have seen Saradas recently Amalda?" She froze mid-stride and stared at him for a moment. "He didn't come home last night, Master." He approached her slowly. "Please, to you it's Rory. He's been out since yesterday then?" She nodded, red curls bouncing up and down. "Sara went to the legal office in Bucklebury to inquire about their will a few days ago." There was no questioning the 'them' she referred to. "The gentlehobbit needed some time to get everything together, all the papers and records and such, so Sara went back into town yesterday to inform the Buckland coroner of the deaths and plan an investigation, I believe. I've no idea where he is now." Rory sighed. "If he is indeed beginning the investigation and ensuring that the proper legal procedures are taken, then I can deal with those matters later. Primula and Drogo need to be buried first, I'm sure of it. It's been three days since the official death, and their bodies have been lying in that mathom room for too long without going to rest." The Master adjusted his hat and turned with resolve towards the Hall. "I have an announcement to make at dinner. Shall I walk you back?"

* * *

Other than Gorbadoc and Mirabella, there were no exceptions for this meal. Rory had all the servant lads run around the Hall to check that everyone was present at dinner; family, staff, apprentices, guests, even Frodo was forced out of his room to hear what the Master had to say. He came compliantly without struggling and sat at the children's table where he immediately became the focus of a dozen pairs of curious eyes. When the food was brought out, he stared at it, contemplating whether or not to eat. He didn't need to agonize over it for long because only a few minutes into the meal Aunt Menegilda came over and ushered the lad to the adults' table, seating him at the end and informing him that Uncle Rory had something important to say. When the Hall had hushed sufficiently, the Master rose to his feet and cleared his throat.

"I understand that improper grieving can be harmful, and desire nothing more than to be able to put Drogo and Primula Baggins to rest in a fitting way. Because of this, I believe it is time to commence with funeral preparation." All was silent and still in the great room while Rory closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath. "We need to bury them. They've laid in that room for too long, not properly let go of and not given peace. They're in an uncertain state of betweenness, neither fully living nor dead. To be right with ourselves and for them to be treated well, we must acknowledge that it is time for them to go. If this concept doesn't communicate clearly to you than consider that to the rest of the Shire, Buckland is already odd. We are viewed as being strange despite our carefulness next to the Old Forest and in relation to the river. Brandy Hall needs to show the other Farthings that we are moving along, we are taking care of matters, and we are mourning appropriately. It was a very, very tragic accident that occurred a few days ago, but Drogo and Primula are gone, and the Shire is watching. How we respond to this will affect our lands and our reputation. I propose that we direct our finances to investigating what happened to the deceased and handle funeral planning ourselves. If I could ask for a volunteer, would anyone be willing to tend to funeral matters?"

A response was almost immediate. Asphodel had already been preparing for the official call for the funeral by ordering the larders to be stocked with extra care and clearing guest rooms. It was only a matter of time before Rory took action on this important stage of the mourning process, and the time had come. "I'll do it," Asphodel said, clearly and confidently. Eyebrows were raised all around the table as Asphodel raised her chin. "Asphodel?" Rory whispered to himself, doubtful. "Very well, Asphodel," he repeated loudly enough for everyone to hear. Heads snapped back to him and he met eyes with his sister. She seemed to be determined to go through with it and if it was beneficial to her _and_ to the Hall, he could not deny her, as the Master or as her older brother. "You may plan the funeral. And if you need help, I'll trust you to appoint whomever you see fit." And so the Master sat down again and the meal continued, though a quiet chatter persisted.

Once dinner was finished, Asphodel hardly had a moment to reconsider before a number of hobbits approached her with questions on this or that about the funeral. After a good ten minutes of repeating "no, I don't know where they'll be buried" and "I haven't been through their clothes, of course I don't know what they'll be wearing!" she and a select few ladies retreated into a parlor to discuss the funeral in earnest. The conversation fell to Asphodel choosing who she wanted to assist her, and the list was Menegilda, Saradoc, Esmeralda, Merimac, Amalda, a few of the servants, and, despite initial reluctance to admit her for her lack of a positive attitude, Amaranth. Anthurium wasn't allowed to assist physically in any way because of her pregnancy. She put up as much of a fight as she could, arguing that she still had at least four months to go before the baby was due. Asphodel wouldn't hear it, however, and the ladies settled on Anthurium assisting in a non-physical way. Saradas also would have been added to the group if he'd been present, but seeing as his location was unknown, he was not. Asphodel would not be so presumptuous as to include him anyway when he was most likely dealing with legal matters.

The blur that was the rest of the evening didn't seem to touch Frodo. He had sat in the dining Hall with his eyes fixed on the table until everyone else had left. "Funeral" was just much too massive of a subject to dwell on. Part of him wanted to do something with himself, to help or provide input, to do the best he could for his parents and make sure everything was as nice as it could be. And the other part wanted to forget the funeral business, turn his tail and run, to lay in the fields and escape this dreary atmosphere where his mother and father were dead and the household was in shambles. The adults always tried to hide it, but he saw through them. He knew they were sad, too, and scared, and unsure of how to express it without frightening everyone else. The sun was setting outside, and a stray beam peeked through a window and settled in Frodo's eye. The lad looked up at it and knew his decision had been made. His aunts would be after him for information on his parents anyway, and he needed to get out for awhile. Frodo finally pushed back from the table and let his feet carry him somewhere else.

* * *

Rory wiped his sweaty palm on his trousers before knocking on the parlor door. Asphodel and the other ladies had been holed up there for a couple of hours while Rory had sat, unsettled, in his study, worrying and trying to make decisions. A few of these decisions needed to be discussed with his sister Asphodel. "Come in!" his wife's voice drifted to him in his deep state of thought. Rory cracked the door and made eye contact with Asphodel, nodding his head in the direction of the hallway. She frowned at him before complying with a few hasty apologies to the others. "Is something wrong, Rory?" she asked, closing the door behind her. "Well, I've a few matters that will affect the funeral planning..." Asphodel closed her eyes and sighed before nodding for him to continue. "The first is to say that the Hall will fund the ceremony in part, and I've already drawn up some figures, but as you know, we're focusing our contributions on the investigation. I think some of the money for the burial ought to come from Drogo and Prim's savings of course, too. The caskets, the flowers, all of it is for them, so it was a natural decision." "I haven't got a problem with that," Asphodel told him. "Was there something else?" Rorimac glanced at the door. "Well, I've just received correspondence from Saradas that the coroner wants to postpone the funeral so they can examine the bodies for the investigation. So when I tell you we're saving some spending on this process, I don't just mean money-" Asphodel finished for him "You mean time, too. Well, you're lucky we've only just started on the invitations because now we'll have to change the dates. Do you happen to have a suggestion?"

"The coroner wants a week." Asphodel's eyes widened. "It was a drowning, Asphodel, you need to give them time to gather reports and all that," the Master waved his hand dismissively and stopped talking. "Alright," his sister agreed, shaking her head and moving to re-enter the parlour. Relieved that he had gotten that business over with, Rorimac made his way back down the hall and left it to his sister. Asphodel relayed the news to the others and encouraged them to continue the process with the hurried speed they were taking. No one wanted this on their minds longer than it had to be. Not twenty minutes later, Milo and Seredic passed by the room quite by chance and were stopped by the committee inside to run a few errands. "Seredic, could you run all of these invitations to the post office before it closes?" Amalda begged her son. With a glance at Milo who returned an unhelpful smile, Seredic gave in and set out for town on a pony. Milo was turning to leave the parlour when Asphodel stopped him. "Not so quick, my lad. I have an errand for you, too."

Ten minutes later Milo was trekking through the fields, already having searched the house and ready to give up on who he was looking for. It was sheer luck that he heard a slight rustle to his right and saw a small hobbit foot disappear into some tall grass. "Frodo, is that you?" The only response was from the crickets and insects coming out for the night. "Frodo, I haven't come to drag you back inside that stuffy place. But I will warn you that it does look like rain tonight," Milo cracked a smile as a curly head popped up. "Come on out," he urged the lad, having a seat himself and patting the patch of grass next to him. "It isn't as if I have any bad news for you." Frodo sighed at this and complied, plopping down next to his cousin. "Sorry. I probably shouldn't have said something like that..." Milo mumbled, realizing his directness might have been in poor taste for the fragile child. Frodo turned his head up and met Milo's eyes, holding the stare until his cousin got uncomfortable. "Why did you come here, then, if not to fetch me?"

Milo shrugged. "Mum wanted me to ask you a question. Just one, she said, because she already knows the answer to everything else she might think to ask you. You weren't in your room or anywhere inside the Hall, so I came out just in case you had somehow..." "Needed some fresh air?" Frodo finished for him. "Milo cracked a smile. "Exactly." He lay back in the grass and watched the stars beginning to come out. "I wouldn't mind some of it myself. It's a mess in there, with everyone trying to organize themselves. It's funny isn't it? Inside there's chaos, and outside it's as if nothing's changed at all." There was silence for a moment before Milo took it a step further. "That's something like how I feel, as well. My head is confused, but I'm fine externally." Frodo felt his eyes on his back, the tension hanging in the air before Milo asked what everyone had been wondering. "How do _you_ feel?"

Frodo was tempted to answer him. To tell him his entire reality had shifted and it was frustrating to think of the rest of the world going on like normal, but terrifying to think of the hole waiting for him in that impossible subject- the subject of his parents. But Milo couldn't help him. Milo was really only here because he was told to be, and perhaps because he was curious as well. Either way he had certainly allowed his curiosity to get the better of him. Frodo decided to slightly change the topic. "Does everyone whisper about me?" Milo sat up quickly, caught off guard, before sighing and scratching his neck. "Not when many others are around to hear. In groups, they gossip with their eyes. You've seen them do that, though." It was true. Every reaction Frodo had had since the incident was chalk full of glances and pointed looks, even this one. Uncomfortable now, Frodo proceeded to ask what the question Asphodel had sent Milo with was. Milo clasped his hands and looked towards the ground. "What was you mother's favourite flower?"

Frodo froze. He could see her face light as day in his mind's eye.

 _"And do you know why it's my favourite, Frodo?" The young child shook his curls. Primula smiled. "Because every time your father saw me when we courted, he would bring me a handful. He said they matched my eyes, and I made the flowers more beautiful when I wore them, instead of the other way 'round!" Frodo giggled, as his mother placed a single flower in his shirt pocket. "It's very small and delicate, Elenti. You'll take care of it, I'm certain." Primula placed an equally delicate kiss on her son's head before opening the door of the hobbit hole and releasing him to play to his heart's content._

Frodo knew what all of his aunts and their guests would say. It was a small, delicate, flower and it wasn't at all showoffish or expensive. But it was her favourite, and it was just like her. The lad's eyes began to fill up with tears, he stood up suddenly and swallowed back the lump in his throat. Like a frightened rabbit, he turned in the direction of the Hall and fled the rain that was coming. Milo stood up and called after him, "Frodo?" Frodo continued running, not breaking his stride for a moment to shout his answer back.

"Forget-me-nots!"

* * *

Two days later, the storm clouds had cleared and the morning found Bilbo Baggins sitting in his study, all of his luggage still in the hall. He had returned from his small adventure, popped into the Gamgees' smial to let Hamfast know he had returned, and taken his mail into Bag End with him. The hobbit hadn't been in a rush to break into it; it was probably just gossip or invitations to tea and other festivities, but a letter from Brandy Hall had piqued his interest. Bilbo had been paying more attention to anything from Buckland, as Drogo and Prim had been sending him correspondence every once in awhile and occasionally Frodo would draw him a picture. He was quite fond of the lad, and, weary from the road, decided to open it up, in case it was a message from his favourite relations. He dropped his bags in the corridor and made his way to his study for his letter opener. The words which he read seemed to be sent out of a nightmare.

"Brandy Hall, with deep sorrow and greatest sympathy for the other relations of the victims, regrets to announce the sudden deaths of Mister Drogo and Mistress Primula Baggins. They passed unexpectedly some time over the night of Astron the Seventh by way of what appears to be a boating accident. They are survived by their twelve-year-old son, Frodo Baggins, as well as their other immediate relations. Word regarding their burial and funeral service will be sent shortly. Thank you for your patience."

After scanning these words once, Bilbo lifted his head and cleared his vision with several quick blinks. His eyes were failing him, he was sure, and he had completely misread what was supposed to be a joyous report of some announcement- _any_ announcement- that was normal, and regular, and safe. A shiver passed through him. Drogo and Primula? Sudden deaths? Boating accident? Ridiculous. Bilbo swallowed and glanced down again, reading what he had just skimmed a second time. It was true, every word that was there was clear and gave no indication that it was a jest. If it was, the punchline was missing, and it was too cruel to believe, but Bilbo had a sinking feeling that it was the truth. Wet spots appeared on the parchment as tears splashed on the letter in the hobbit's shaking hand.

A knock on the door made Bilbo jump out of his seat. He kicked his bags out of the way and swung it wide. A bashful looking messenger-hobbit stood on his threshold, with an arm outstretched holding another letter. Bilbo glanced at him and took it. Realising what a mess he must look, he swiped his finger under his eyes to clear away any tears and checked the return address on the envelope. Sure enough; Brandy Hall. He only half listened to the lad's excuses of the storm keeping him from delivering it and his pleas for forgiveness as he was young and unsure of what to do, even though he had delivered all the other letters on time and was well qualified for his position. Bilbo waved him away and ripped open the envelope on the spot, not even bothering with the letter opener. It was either the "word regarding their burial" that was promised in the first letter, or it was the explanation that the previous message was a prank by some of the lads at the Hall offering their apologies for worrying him. He held his breath and unfolded it.

It was about the funeral- and the service was tomorrow. Bilbo's eyes widened. There was no possible way he would make it in time, even if he left at that moment. Reaching back inside to grab the bags still sitting on the landing, he hoisted them over his shoulder and grasped his walking stick. He didn't care if he was late, he was going anyway.

* * *

The tomb of a mathom room that held the bodies needed to be open so they could be inspected by the coroner and then dressed for the funeral, and no matter how much he wanted to hide from it, Frodo had to see them before they were packed away and disposed of like rubbish. It wasn't very difficult to sneak in after Uncle Saradas and the coroner walked out to discuss the results with Uncle Rory and all the attention was diverted.

They looked much like they had when he had seen them outside that day. It was wrong to him that their skin could be that colour- so lifeless and warped into some dead creature. It looked as if they had never been alive. Frodo wondered briefly if these were just stuffed mannequins made to slightly resemble his parents but he quickly dismissed it after hesitantly reaching out to touch his father's hand. No one would be able to convince Frodo that the cold, dead hobbits in front of him had not once been alive and happy, and full of laughter and song as well as tears and angry words, but most of all of love. Mother and father had been real with a full range of emotions and every day they had lived and breathed and they had been _his_. His parents.

He didn't want to assume, and he wasn't a great elf with the gift of foresight like Lord Elrond from Bilbo's stories, but he knew himself and he was fairly certain he wouldn't have any semblance of a clear head during the actual ceremony, so he figured that if he were to "say goodbye" or anything of the sort, he had better do it now. Frodo opened his mouth to whisper something, but his eyes filled with tears, and he found himself clamping his mouth shut to trap a sob from escaping. Saying goodbye would have to be goodbye forever, and he couldn't do it. It just wasn't fair. Milo could say goodbye to Uncle Rufus and Aunt Asphodel and it wouldn't be goodbye forever, it would be "goodbye until I see you later". How anyone could be expected to say "goodbye, I'll never see you again" to their own mummy and daddy escaped him. Was it really forever? Frodo didn't know. There were _so many things_ Frodo knew he didn't know, and he didn't know where to start. "I love you," he choked out. "I love you." He repeated it aloud until his voice broke. He couldn't beg them not to go, because they were already gone. He couldn't ask them what to do, because they wouldn't answer. But he could tell them he loved them, because he knew they loved him back. He _knew_ they loved him back.

"Frodo-lad!" Aunt Menegilda's surprised voice shrieked. She hadn't seen him when she walked in with the clothes Drogo and Primula were to wear. He lifted his tear-stained face, surprised as well, as he hadn't heard her come in. Frodo didn't realize he had been crying, but he was immediately embarrassed and turned his head away. "Come now, let's get you ready..." Menegilda muttered several other things, but Frodo wasn't listening. He felt her pull his quivering hand out of Dad's cold, limp one and into her warm, sweaty one. He was deposited outside and the door was closed behind him.

* * *

Drogo and Primula were to be buried on a hill under a tree. The family had picnicked there once or twice before, and it was as good a spot as any. Frodo took notice of the forget-me-nots growing there as the procession made its way to the plot and looked away before too many thoughts invaded his brain. It was simpler if he focused on one thing and distracted himself. The sky was clear save for a few wispy clouds, so Frodo focused on those. Cousin Esmeralda noticed him staring at them and nudged him. Frodo flinched and hesitantly met her eyes, afraid she would scold him, but she understood what he was trying to do and whispered, "What do you think that one looks like?" She discreetly pointed at the closest cloud. Frodo hadn't thought about it looking like anything and wasn't much in the mood for speculation, especially not when cloud-gazing was an activity he had enjoyed with his parents.

"I don't know." He shrugged and looked away. Hearing Esmeralda's sigh, he felt guilty and had to say something. "A rabbit?" Both of them were aware the cloud looked nothing like a rabbit, but the conversation was clearly over. "Where's Uncle Bilbo?" Frodo asked, glancing around the sea of somber faces marching up the hill. Esmeralda perked up at the opportunity to help the poor lad in some way, but then grimaced as she realized the answer she had to deliver wasn't what he wanted to hear. "I'm afraid I didn't see him arrive. Why don't we look for him during the reception?" She figured he wouldn't feel like eating anyway after burying his parents. Frodo didn't answer her, but kept walking. When the plot had been reached, the gentlehobbits carrying the caskets went about placing them in the holes which had already been dug. They seemed like enormous pits to Frodo, and he didn't want to watch any longer. He turned his head and began to fumble with the excess handkerchiefs which had been stuffed in his pockets by one of his aunts, he wasn't even sure which one.

Some gentlehobbit he had never seen before went up in front of the crowd gathered and began to speak. "Drogo and Primula were a much loved couple of outstanding hobbits that left a mark on Buckland society and all of our hearts." Frodo wondered if this speaker had ever actually met his parents. "We can all truly attest that whatever may happen to their souls, they will never leave our hearts." Here Frodo tuned him out for the rest of his speech and chose to listen to the birds' conversation. It was much more interesting anyway. Suddenly, he felt another nudge from Aunt Esmeralda. His head shot up as he observed everyone staring at him. His eyes went to the speaker, who had stopped speaking, and was now holding out a hand full of dirt in his direction.

Frodo's stomach hit the floor. He knew what this hobbit wanted him to do. It took another nudge from Esmeralda and the intensifying stares of all his relatives to get him to remember how to move his legs. One in front of the other, he finally made it to the gaping graves in front of him. "And now, Drogo and Primula, we commit thee to the earth," boomed the voice of the speaker. Not looking at him, he grasped a fistful of dirt and held it for a moment before relaxing his fingers and letting it tumble into his father's grave. He grabbed another fistful and moved to his mother's, dropping it in before his body began to shake. No one said anything, and for a moment Frodo was afraid that he had missed the graves completely and dropped the dirt in the wrong place, but he heard the footsteps of other nameless gentlehobbits approaching with their shovels and finishing the job Frodo had started. He stood there, frozen to the ground, before someone placed two forget-me-nots in his right hand and he realized time had passed and the hobbits with shovels were done and he had just been given another job to do. He turned around, trying to discover who had given him the flowers and realized that everyone gathered there was holding a bunch of the little blue buds. The sea of blue began to blur as tears gathered in Frodo's eyes and he whipped around again to avoid crying. He knelt in between those two patches of earth that concealed the most important people in the world, not realizing how difficult it was going to be to get up again, and delicately placed a flower at the heads of each, horizontally, right where their eyes would be. Eyes as blue as forget-me-nots.

Time passed unheeded, and others laid their flowers on the graves and walked away, but Frodo was not aware of it. The rest of the world faded away, even Lobelia Sackville-Baggins and her unnecessarily loud sobbing. He felt the wind on his face and pretended it was his mother's hand. Even the birds to Frodo became silent and he spoke into the void, "I'll be back. _Soon_." He let Uncle Saradoc pick him up and carry him away on his back, face still turned towards the hill, and the tree, and his parents. He let himself be dragged away as he looked back, tears streaking down his face.

* * *

 **A/N: In the A/N for the previous chapter I mentioned that writing this was difficult because it forced me into a place where I had to remember and sometimes re-live the parts if my life where my heart was in a dark place. How much truer is that now, with an even more heartbreaking death in the family? I will do my best to channel this into a well-written story for you guys. Thank you for your patience and for being here! Please, please comment and ask questions, it means the world to me.**

 **REVIEWS: Frodo's sister, the first time I read your review on Chapter 2, I jumped out of my chair thinking, 'yes! Someone gets it! It made sense why I built Frodo's thoughts that way'. And when i reread it I nodded again because it makes even more sense now that I've been in his shoes to an extent. This review is very important to me, so thank you again for it.**

 **NEXT CHAPTER: The Brandybucks must face the reality of having an invalid among them, and that invalid must face his own condition.**

 **Thanks again, and stay tuned for more! -TFF**


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